


The Moon is a Mirror

by runsinthefamily



Series: Purgatory [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <img/><p>Photo by Benoit Paille<br/>http://www.flickr.com/photos/benoitpaille/sets/72157628994434029/</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Moon is a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Photo by Benoit Paille  
> http://www.flickr.com/photos/benoitpaille/sets/72157628994434029/

“Ok, the fucking thing is following us.”

Cas glances to the side, through the blasted dead-tree debris, and contemplates the glowing square. “I suppose it’s possible,” he allows. “It doesn’t seem to be hostile.”

“Since when is anything here not hostile?” Dean glares at the thing.

It hangs, quietly luminescent.

“That’s it,” says Dean, and tromps off through the trees.

“Do you think this is wise?” Cas asks, following. His wings arch to either side of Dean, shoving back branches and leaves and whole tree trunks to clear a path. They are slate grey and rattling like metal at the moment, the edge of each feather a razor gleam. 

“Wisdom is overrated,” Dean says, marching forward. 

Cas sighs, slices through a final deadfall with a flick of primary feathers, and tosses the bits aside like someone might brush crumbs from a table. 

This close, it is apparent that the thing is smaller than Dean originally thought. About a meter square, emitting a soft, yellow light that wavers just slightly, like candlelight. It hovers at chest level. He squints at it, trying to see the edges. 

“I mean, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” says Cas. “Not a soul.”

“What the hell kind of monster would have a soul like that?” Dean asks. “No teeth, no claws. No unreasoning fury.” He reaches out a hand.

“Dean,” says Cas.

“I’m just gonna -” His hand is less than a foot away, bathed in that pretty light, when the thing blinks out of existence, leaving Dean momentarily blinded in the sudden dark.

“Ok, so it’s shy,” says Dean.

It shows up again as they are slogging through the snowy woods at the foot of a massive mountain. Harpies hiss and chitter above them, too wary of Castiel’s fury to harass them, but too vicious and hateful to leave them alone. When the light blinks into being just ahead, the harpies take off in a shrieking mob, feathers and guano raining down.

“Gross,” says Dean. “Why are harpies so gross?”

The light glows gently at them, framed by a small grotto of trees and snow. 

“Is it me, or does it seem -“

“Shy?” Cas asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“I was gonna say, hopeful?”

“Hopeful,” Cas repeats.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, shrugging. “Yeah. Hopeful.”

Cas eyes him. “Are you sure you aren’t projecting your own feelings upon it?”

“Hopeful? Me?” Dean jams a thumb into his own chest. “Have you met me?”

“You are currently attempting to escape from Purgatory, a realm that has no map, no rules, and no limits, by walking. You either have more hope than any other being in creation, or you are insane. And this team already has a ‘looney toon.’” Cas smiles, just a little.

Dean snorts a laugh.

The square pulses brighter for a moment and there is a brief, high-pitched hum.

Cas and Dean stare at it. 

“Did it -” Dean says, just as Cas says, “That noise came from -“

The square blinks out. 

It’s everywhere after that, always off to the side, sometimes so far out that it’s nothing but a wink of light in the distance, sometimes just a few steps behind them, keeping pace effortlessly, phasing in and out of obstacles. It makes it impossible to hide, but Cas is pretty goddamn visible in any case, and it isn’t as if they haven’t already said hello to every creepy-crawly that Purgatory has to offer.

“No, we haven’t,” says Cas. 

“Right,” says Dean. “The levels thing.” He stares at the square, which right now is about twenty feet away, illuminating the side of a rusted-out tin shed. Something in the shed is growling, but more in a I’m-terrified-please-go-away sort of fashion than a I’m-about-to-try-and-rip-your-throat-out way. “Hey, maybe Lightbulb over there comes from a different level?”

“I very much doubt it,” says Cas. 

“But you don’t know,” says Dean. “You don’t know what it is.”

“It seems too benign,” says Cas.

Dean casts him a sideways glance. Cas’ face has that look again, the one that means _I am remembering Leviathan shit_. “Okay,” he says. “Time for a little scientific method.”

Cas tilts his head at Dean, the gesture that means everything and nothing and never fails to make Dean’s heart contract, just a little. 

Dean clears his throat, looks at the square, and says, “Hi.”


End file.
